


I'd have dinner with you

by Goblinofbooville



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goblinofbooville/pseuds/Goblinofbooville





	1. Chapter 1

One lash, two lash, three lash and stop. Sherlock kept counting the number of lashes and the abuser stopped after every three to catch his breath. After what seemed like a thousand lashes, Sherlock screeched: "Sherlock Holmes" the name rang loudly throughout the cell and the man stopped beating him as soon as he admitted who he was. He opened the restraints on Sherlock's hands and said in a gruff voice "Allez!." Sherlock looked up confused at the African man, whom he, knew as a warlord, whose divorce he had ensured with his second wife in Paris. He was also sure that the man cared little for his issues with Sherlock and that he was acting on direct orders from someone else. "Je ne comprends pas. Qu'es ce que…" he said and was interrupted by the muscly man, who spoke in heavy accented English "Go away meestr kholmes. Leave, beeefore I keel you Brit." He shouted. Sherlock looked at him from under his mop of curly hair and smirked "Non, je veux mes réponses." This made the man angry and he screamed loudly before charging at Sherlock. "Arretez!" a voice spoke from behind the man angrily. Sherlock thought that it was a woman's but he was drowsy, dehydrated and in too much pain to keep a firm hold on consciousness. The next thing he knew, he was in a Hospital and he woke up to Mycroft's face, he was relieved to find a familiar face and to him, his brother's presence always had been a sign of safety. Sherlock made a guttural noise in the back of his throat, to show his false agitation towards his brother. "And its good to see you too, brother dear" Mycroft said. Sherlock reached towards the morphine button but Mycroft stopped his hand, "Before you begin to drool in your slumber, tell me how did you get out and what trouble were you in?" Sherlock turned to him in surprise, "what do you mean, wasn't it you?" and Mycroft raised his eyebrows in disapproval and said "No" and Sherlock tried to move and wailed in agony as he felt pain in his right leg and arm. Mycroft knitted his eyebrows and tsked " Don't worry yourself with it now, lay back and sleep." And Sherlock was more than happy to comply and just as his mind blurred and he felt weightless and sleepy, he remembered that it was woman who'd saved him; he tried to tell Mycroft but only a feeble voice came out and he was asleep. Sherlock left the hospital three days later to be transferred to Bart's.

Three months later Sherlock was back solving crimes. John evidently at his side. Sherlock made a point of keeping John near him, after having found the truth of Mary's shady and dark past. Of three things Sherlock was sure: a. that Mary was danger, b. she had only been involved with john to harm him and c. that she wanted to do everything in her power to keep the baby safe. Sherlock had two priorities, to keep john safe and to find an alternative living condition for the baby and John so they can be away from danger. The idea that John and anything that he had made would cease to exist, made Sherlock shudder. He loved John and there was no way around. It wasn't an arrogant love that made every other form of affection around it seem inferior and mocked and denied the fact that anyone else could love the person more than him, it was a giving love. Just as John had given Sherlock space to love and grow and thrive, Sherlock yearned for John to have the love that he so truly deserved. One spring morning when the birds were chirping and the sky was blue and the world felt calm, Sherlock sat in his chair drinking tea, he knew something was coming, something big, but nothing had transpired in the last few months that was of a huge criminal nature. He just had an intuition, but he rarely relied on sixth sense, that wasn't his job, and it had often failed him. He got a text that said "Mary's water broke. Going to Bart's. –JW" at exactly 8:05 am forty five minutes after the first text he received a text saying, "I have a beautiful baby girl, Caroline. Mary dead. –JW" and with that Sherlock rushed from baker street and met John outside nursery, who was smiling at the only baby in the nursery. "John are you alright? Where is she? How?..." and Sherlock turned to look at the little bay, its small hands and button nose as it stretched and made an o shape with its mouth , she was a spitting image of John,

Sherlock flushed and cleared his head "ddiisidd…. Um, what happened to Mary? Are you alright?"

And John grinned "Yes she's alright. She's in the recovery room, resting. Look at Caroline, she's such a doll…. What?" John asked looking at Sherlock's face.

"I got a text, saying that that Mary's dead." " What?..." John exclaimed, "Stay here, John." Sherlock screamed at him and made his way to the next floor. He knew all the nooks and corners of his home from home, and opened several doors, on opening the fifth door he knew he'd find her and there Mary was, covered in blood, dying and shot in several places, the IV still attached to her arm, she looked up at him through drowsy eyes and feebly whispered, "Caroline….keep her.… alive…" and Sherlock said, "yes of course…"

but she cut him off "NO! keep her…. Alive… its paramount." She coughed and spat out blood "She needs….. stay alive."

"Why?" Sherlock inquired. "I'm going, to sleep…. Love them.." Sherlock made his way to her and held her hand and with that she shut her eyes, her final breaths left, "I will." Sherlock promised.

Sherlock made his way to John and Caroline, scared as to what would happen to john. He nearly went into depression, when Sherlock had faked his death, but John was still grinning and waving at the toddler. "She's gone" Sherlock whispered,


	2. Chapter 2

John had broken down moments after Sherlock told him about his death. He leaned on to Sherlock for support and cried and spoke in a soft, huffed and shaky voice "We knew" huff "the truth about her" sob "but she was" gruff "still my wife" and John cried and cried.

Sherlock didn't know what to say, so he just held John, lead him to a chair and, mentally shortlisted the people who could have killed her. He had never been a shoulder to cry on to John, he'd never trusted himself to be in a close proximity to John. His John. John, whom he had saved. He could physically feel the weight of a truly exhausted man on his chest, but mentally he didn't know what to feel. Even as John lay in Sherlock's arms, warm and sad and grief stricken; Sherlock thought to himself,"You chose her. And not me". But he knew this was a time to help John. John was in pain, John needed to be saved again. John had a child. The child needed to be taken care of, a child that they would now bring up together. John's baby whose name was Caroline.

John was happy around Caroline, but his limp was back and was showing signs of depression. He was never sad around the baby but he was sad around others, even Sherlock. Sherlock, who had striven his hardest to not be sad around John, felt heartbroken. Sherlock wasn't enough for him. Sherlock took it upon himself to care for the baby and John. He would bathe her, feed her and play with her, he even wrote her a song. This seemed to please John. Sherlock couldn't replace Mary, but he could do what she would have. He cared for Caroline and observed that she was a fast learner. At eight months, she learnt how to turn over and at twelve months she had begun crawling. A year had passed by with John and Sherlock bringing her up. Yet, John didn't move back in with Sherlock. The emptiness that Sherlock felt without John, screamed violently at him around Christmas, when he took Caroline to Harry's. Alone in 221 B he did nothing but move the bow over the violin strings. Sherlock had thought about Mary's death time and time again. She wanted the baby to stay alive. Paramount? The word stuck in his head. Why was it paramount? Was the baby not John's. That wasn't possible because Caroline, looked exactly like John, even if she wasn't there was no way of checking, because even a suggestion of taking a paternity test would upset John. Did Mary think that Sherlock was not enough for John to live by? Or did she think that Sherlock alone could protect the child? Or did Mary simply want Sherlock to love the child to bring out his sentiments and humanize him? Further no one from Mary's past was alive, as far as Sherlock could tell. She'd killed her abusive parents aged sixteen, taken down lots of terror cells, but by the time she was twenty eight, greed got the better of her. She assassinated the rich and the powerful, broke up two marriages and killed three of her employers. All of this was irrelevant information as it was all to no avail and lead to dead ends that frustrated him more. Evidently whoever it was, was a trained killer, there weren't cameras on the maternity ward, and so the assassin would have posed as a visitor or a nurse. A doctor would be too conspicuous, everyone notices doctors. Visitors not really and nurses even less. As to why anyone would kill her, the explanation wasn't quite simple an old feud, a loyal worker, an orphaned child, it could be anyone. Whoever it was their motive was to kill her, not just threaten her.

The violin screeched in agony as he furiously moved from his melodies for the baby, to Chopin, to Bach. He remembered Mrs. Hudson shouting some drivel, but all he heard was stop and then he moved to sit on his chair as she fussed about. He went to his mind palace and thought of Redbeard and Mary and Magnussen, and finally as he moved from room to room he came upon his brother. His other brother, Syprin. Sherlock remembered the fear that came with Syprin. He was cruel and psychotic, yet his parents would keep home out of affection. Syprin was physically abusive to Sherlock and would often hurt him, beat him till he was blue and do much worse. Sherlock's asexuality was because of Syprin, he never wanted to be in a situation like that again. Syprin would ask Sherlock to keep quiet or mummy or daddy would be cross. Mycroft had already gone to uni and Redbeard was all he had. When one day Syprin stabbed Redbeard and laughed manically and his parents did nothing but take the dog to the vet, Sherlock was plotting his dear dog's revenge. When they found out that Redbeard had to be put down, Sherlock had made his mind. The next day, when his brother was sleeping, Sherlock hit him with Redbeard's ball and Syprin sprang after Sherlock as he ran towards the main street. He remembered running and the pain searing through his legs and Syprin behind him, once they were on the highway, Sherlock pushed Syprin in front of a truck that crushed his skull and Syprin was dead. Sherlock smiled and Mrs. Hudson called out "Oi what are you thinking about? Come on then the dinner's getting cold. Sherlock put on a coat will you? Margret's coming around. What's that box ?" and on and on she went. He went back to his mind palace after dinner and considered Mary and Magnussen's connection. It was evident that, Mary wasn't there that night to kill Magnussen there was something else. Something big. Further could it be connected to his abduction in Nairobi a year back? The cases he'd solved were mainly boring and there was no connection between any of them because they were less to do with murders and more to with promiscuity. Exhausted, he opened a door, which always seemed to calm him down, where Mary had stood in his last hour preventing him to get to his John. He opened it and there John was, smiling and sitting in his chair looking all so delectable. Sherlock had come to terms with his love for John a long time ago. There was nothing he could do about that, he just was in love. Having had very little experience in that particular area, he didn't know what to make of it. But, he was happy in his mind palace, where no one could disturb them. Where he could hold him and feel him in his arms, their chests together, the army doctor who was so brave and wise. His reverie was broken when saw a text from Mycroft, which said: Emergency. Come at once. Knighthood in the bag. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the last part, he never really understood his brother's devotion to royalty. He groaned as he got up and put his coat on and left his mind palace with his John in his chair, pant less and red. He smirked as his coat fell on his shoulders and he dashed out to the Ministry.


	3. Chapter 3

He was meeting Mycroft after a long while, who seemed to have kept away after the baby came into the picture. Sherlock as a child and in times of need and pain found his brother's presence comforting, that was his preconscious, a more alert and egocentric Sherlock had a great deal of resentment towards his brother, he enjoyed watching Sherlock suffer. What irked Sherlock was that Mycroft often said that Sherlock had to fight his own battles. Mycroft behaved as if he were god, who according Sherlock was a non-entity created for and by inferior beings to feel that someone was witnessing their life, because the idea that we are in fact alone seems so very droll to mortals. Well, most of them. Sherlock needed Mycroft, when Syprin was abusing him, but Mycroft didn't come, he didn't help. Whenever Sherlock was high, he would loose his cool and manhandle Mycroft. It upset him later, because nothing about his brother's conduct was violent, but it gave him a sense of power. He could kill Syprin but once, but Mycroft, the absentee brother could be punished time and time gain. Sherlock remembered that time when he outed Mycroft in front of his superior, when The Woman had caused a stir. Ah! The woman. He let his head fall back on the neck rest of the cab, cracked the window open and felt the cool wind brush against his neck. He didn't open it all the way, he felt like the cool breeze whispered memories of Irene, but like the little crack escaped only little wisps of air, their relationship was just as constrained and limited. He remembered that night in Karachi when he'd saved her. She was flushed from the exhaustion of being held captor for days. But he took her back to his hotel and he left her to freshen up, ordered food for them and drank in the bar, while he waited for the pumping adrenaline to die out. When he went back to room, Irene was wearing nothing but a towel. It took all his might to say "Oh sorry, I'll wait outside." And she smirked at him.

"You aren't blushing." she said "you blushed the last time you saw me naked."

"You aren't naked." Sherlock crinkled his nose a smile playing across his lips.

And with that Irene took off her towel and asked coquettishly "No?" Sherlock though was expecting her to want intimacy after a traumatic battle; he hadn't expected to feel the need to go through with fulfilling her needs. But there Irene was smelling soft and like lavender. He remembered how generic males prefer women who smell like lavender, it reminds them of their mother's musk and the gardens that came with it. Irene had definitely lost weight. She was much thinner and muscly than she was before and he realized how he had not even made an effort to make a deduction of her. He just stood there dazzled and excited by her beauty.

He met her sapphire blue eyes, which gleamed with playfulness, just as she whispered, "Deduce me, mister Holmes".

And Sherlock began his rant "you knew that an attack was coming, so you've trained to be ready. You had no way of knowing…." His thoughts trailed as she covered the distance between them and her breasts were an inch close to the fabric of his shirt. "No Sherlock, I was being delicate. You really haven't had, anyone have you?"

Sherlock knew that she meant that he had never been active sexually as an adult and as a child it wasn't his choice and he didn't even realize what it was back then. But, he couldn't say anything, he shut his eyes and breathed in, his nostrils flared and his face full of pain, much like the one he had made when Mycroft stepped on his sheet at the palace. Irene knew what that meant or at least she had a vague idea. "Well then, we really need to focus on you tonight, don't we? Ah! Those cheekbones make me want to sit on your face. Oooh scared you have I?'

"Scared me? I'm never scared" Sherlock said, but his voice was husky and heavy and Irene let out a moan. "Irene you are physically and emotionally compromised, it would be very improper of me to mislead you and make you…" and Irene kissed him slowly and he stood there with his eyes wide open, his lips shut and unmoving. "Mister Holmes, whatever gave you the idea that you are calling the shots here? You don't get to make all the decision." She said in an American accent.

"That's all I need" Sherlock said and he kissed her, slowly and deeply, they both moaned out loud as their tongues met and Sherlock teased hers and pulled her closer. There was only the cotton of his shirt that was separating them now. He paused to breathe and said in a hushed tone "Can I just say? The accent is fucking sexy."

Irene laughed, "Well, well. Today is a big day for Sherlock. Kissing someone and finding things sexy and saying fuck."

Sherlock jutted his lip out and said "I've said fuck before. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." Irene smiled. "And miss Adler if I may be so crass, I intend to do that to you, this very night." Now in a hypnotically sexy voice.

"Mister Holmes will only be an hour, he's sorry for the delay". Anthea broke his reverie to tell him. He didn't even remember getting to Mycroft's office. He liked Anthea, but in that moment he hated her and he went back to that room in his mind palace, in Karachi when she left. Ahh! So yes there he was with Adler, who was undoing his buttons. He felt her fingers brush against his chest as she went lower. She then unbuttoned his trousers and pants as he took off his shirt. She gasped at the sight before her, "My, my mister Holmes, you sure impress me, time and time again." Sherlock chuckled "I saved you from a prison cell and my genitals impress you?"

She looked at him and said "Aren't you going to say that you have little experience and you'll try your hardest to make me… satisfied?" Sherlock moaned when she said hardest. "No, I'm sure I'll be good at it." And Sherlock slipped his hand to her nether regions looking for her clitoris, he knew he'd found it, when she made a guttural sound at the back of her throat and he started moving his fingers fasters and Irene made and face and breathlessly scolded him "Easy there, it's a not a video game control button" and he changed his pace to an unbearably slow one and smiled at her as she tilted her head at him and smiled a yeah-I-know-you-think-you're-clever smile and reached down and started stroking Sherlock who stopped completely and his eyes hooded so much with arousal that he closed them shut and threw his head back, his neck tense and his curls thrown back.

"Sorry brother dear, but the Indian prime minister finds it hard to make any decisions that would in any way make a difference to the world. He needed to be coerced to… Not your concern." Sherlock decided to put a pin in his thoughts, groaning not having had his share of Irene's memories.

"Did you call me here because you lost your goldfish?" Sherlock was referring to Mycroft's boyfriend; well now ex boyfriend seeing as Mycroft had broken up with him, no he broke up with Mycroft. Mycroft had had a cheese burger, two three slices of red velvet cake with butter cream icing, two beers and a toffee apple in the last four hours, judging from the state of his cuffs, his tie which had been cleaned twice in the day, his nails which still had a remainder of the cake crumbs and his left sock which had a bit of caramel stuck to it, from when he must have tried to throw it in the bin and dropped it.

"No" Mycroft smiled at Sherlock patronizingly "There is something else, now you remember how I never involve you in diplomatic relations? Well that's about to change, there's a case that you need to take up, or the secretary of state and I personally will be at risk."

"You mean you'll loose your job?"

"Precisely." A woman's voice said from the door.


	4. Chapter 4

On her arrival Mycroft hurriedly got to his feet. "Ms. Silsbury" he greeted her as she gestured Mycroft to sit and he got down quickly. Sherlock noticed that Mycroft was somewhat nervous. Sherlock got up to shake her hand and introduced himself as "Sherlock Holmes" she shook it and Sherlock could deduce from just her handshake that she was a woman of power. "Hyacinth Silsbury."

"Ms. Silsbury" Sherlock nodded "Hyacinth" she said.

Who was she? Sherlock had never heard of her and Mycroft had never mentioned her. She could be a rogue American agent or diplomat; her name was of a Greek origin, but her last name English. Sherlock scanned her now with his robotic near perfect gaze of deduction,

Feet: expensive louboutin's, doesn't wear them a lot, but does wear heels a lot (has short strides), expensive heels, because her feet were in near perfect state. She could be a big spender.

Strong athletic and toned calves: plays tennis, squash?, horse riding,?basketball, extreme sports?, does a lot of exercise at gym? Hmm…. Did she do it all? If she were nearly as busy as his brother, she would hardly have time do it all.

Sherlock frowned.

Measurements: 37-28-30

She was extremely curvaceous and Sherlock was beginning to notice just how snuggly her curves where hugged by her dress (which cost 500 pounds) big spender was looking good. She had had two three abortions. Had two, three? Four husbands and a string of love affairs, none of them ended well. No, she left them she was always in control. Her ring, the only ornament she wore, made of blue sapphires and white diamonds was a bouquet of gems set in a large flower with a big blue stone in the middle. Feminist, independent, strong and powerful. Almost a dominatrix. He noticed her knuckles were bruised, so she took it upon herself to interrogate a-list criminals. Definitely a dominatrix. Sherlock moved to her face and tried hard to concentrate, but her eyes met his and he was slightly taken a back by her delicate face, which was a contrast to the rest of her. She had soft cupid bow lips, dark brown eyes, and high cheekbones that gave her dimples when she smiled. She was looking directly at him and smiling. He realized that more than forty seconds had passed and he was still holding her hand firmly in his, he also noticed he still hadn't deduced the job she held. He could barely even deduce her preferred form of exercise. He stepped back and smiled a quick forced smile. A puzzle, during a case, was never ideal. "You're not the secretary of state."

"Good god! Mister Holmes, I wish I could deduce like you." Her voice was laced with sarcasm. She was beginning to get interesting, she could hold her own even around him. She was very powerful. Sherlock squinted at her trying hard to make a deduction.

Atheist? ...Agressive?

Oldest child?... Short-tempered?

...Virgin?

...Straight? ...Maladjusted child?

All these were ambiguous deductions.

She sat down on the chair at the back of the room, with agility that came with years and years of private schools. Royalty? Is that why Mycroft had ensured a knighthood? She had short nails, clipped that morning and filed to a shape. She'd cut too deeply and red edges were visible. Lesbian? Was this another Irene Adler situation?

"Go on" she said to Mycroft, who was clearly intimidated by Ms. Silsbury.

He huffed and spoke in his soft baritone "Sherlock we do hope that you will at all times maintain, discretion whilst solving this case. Now you can decline this case right now," Hyacinth's eyes narrowed, that was clearly not an option "or forever hold your silence about it. You are to under no circumstances breathe a word of this to anyone".

"Not even to doctor Watson." Hyacinth added.

"Yes, now do you take the case?" Sherlock silently nodded "very well then". Mycroft said disapprovingly. "Well Ms. Silsbury has very concrete information about the existence of Magnussen's, shall we say accomplice? We don't know who it is. We don't know where this person in question is, but brother dear know this, Magnussen wasn't half the devil this person is. This person may have been connected to Mary Morstan's death. In fact this person may be connected with everything that goes around." Mycroft, Sherlock could tell, was trying his hardest to not make any eye contact with Silsbury or make it sound as if he were accusing her of anything. But, she was definitely under scrutiny, from him and his superiors. She seemed unthawed by this all, she'd made her way to drinks cart and was now sipping sherry.

She was looking at her drink and was evidently thinking about Mycroft's poorly worded intel.

Sherlock's mind was running fast, Mycroft had made a very deliberate use of the words: this person, almost as if to say that he knew that Silsbury was this person. Was he indicating that this person, before you is behind it all?

"And how is it that you know so well about the existence of someone, no one has ever seen before?"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft shrieked.

She smiled sweetly, like Mycroft did when he wanted to show anger, ("ugh these diplomats", Sherlock thought) and said. "I'm not a criminal mastermind. I merely a humble government servant, trying to make the nation a better place to be in."

Sherlock rubbed his hands together and placed them under his chin. "You're not English, you've been hired for this very particular sticky situation."

"Mister Holmes, believe it or not there are stickier situations than psychopaths that are out to get detectives, which I have to deal with. But yes, currently this is our top priority because we can't have violent criminal, public attacks."

"Again." Sherlock snapped.

"Again." Said Hyacinth slowly and smiling.

"Why would you care?"

"Mister Holmes, do your job and right now, it's to mind your own business and start working on the case of your life. By which I obviously mean that you will either die solving it or someone else will. But your life isn't so bad," she got up and through hooded eyes said to him as he looked up at her. Hmm…this is exactly where she wanted him, Sherlock deduced "because you get watch me walk away." And she left the room swaying her hips, as Sherlock turned to Mycroft in utter disbelief and Mycroft looked away.

"Time to start working on something real brother mine."


	5. Chapter 5

On his way back, he could only think about the Silsbury woman. She was…different. But Sherlock assured himself that she at best was a political advisor, the trouble was he felt like he'd seen her somewhere, not just in the news, but in person too. He tried to research her and he went straight to the government records. There was nothing about her. No relatives, no husbands with a record, not even dental records. No credit in her name, she was in no debt. She had no imprint on this planet. Bullocks! But she wasn't like other people, who'd died or had been under witness protection programs, that would definitely have showed up somewhere. What about her lovers? Where were they? Who were they? Why was Mycroft so scared of her? She definitely wasn't blue blooded. She was an assassin then. She knew about Mary and she must have been attached to her. Why else would she go to the extra trouble of finding a link between Mary's killer and Magnussen. Plus, she'd beaten someone up in the last few two days, hence the bruised knuckles, only trained assassins even after their termination feel the urge to get violent, as they work at their desk jobs.

On reaching 221B he dashed up the stairs and was once again assaulted by the memories of his mind palace. He had to choose where he had to go in his palace. He looked towards the chair and then towards the bedroom, oddly he had to make a decision about whom he would choose even without either party being present. John would cause him pain, right now. Perhaps he chose Irene because she was just as alone as he was and this quality about her spoke to him. So he headed to the bedroom, stripped and got under the sheet. "Where were we?" he thought. Ah yes, so she was stroking Sherlock.

"Mmmmm." Sherlock had hummed.

"Well, aren't you just gorgeous?" Irene purred. Sherlock knew he had to get a grip if he needed to last. He moved closer to Irene and kissed her deeply and pushed her slightly so as to guide her to the bed. She didn't budge, she was going to win this. "I thought we weren't playing?" Sherlock whispered in her lips, kissed her again and this time Irene moved to the bed and stopped stroking him, Sherlock groaned. Then she looked at him, nude in all his glory and licked her lips seductively and got on the bed and Sherlock followed suite. He was beginning to loose his mind so he threw her down on the bed and pressed his naked form to her and she made a delicious sound at the back of her throat. He kissed her neck and then sucked on it and looked at her, she was amused and then without breaking eye contact he bit down on her skin. If she had been amused, she was now truly surprised. He got lower and kissed her sternum between her breasts, she pulled him closer. Then he moved to her breast and sucked on it and she made a steady humming noise. He then moved to other breast still stroking the right one and bit her nipple, Irene screeched. He moved lower and lower kissing her stomach and her thighs. And up again. He pressed her thighs wide open and nestled between them and slowly kissed her inner left thigh and then the right and then the left and right and left again. Irene was positively writhing by this point, "For fuck's sake Sherlock, just do it!"

"Do what?" Sherlock looked up at her innocently.

"Lick me."

"And what would be the magic word here?"

Irene stared at his squarely and he said "Nevermind." and got down and licked her clitoris with his tongue and she screamed, he moved faster and faster and her hips moved in rhythm. Sherlock was thoroughly enjoying himself. She looked up to see him and the image of his crown of curly locks, made her screech and Sherlock slowed his pace as she was beginning to cringe, and inserted a finger looking for the spot that would push her over the edge. "Sherrrrrlooockkkk… sher… sher…. Sherlockkkkkk!"

'Ah! Found it' he thought as he held her as she climaxed loudly.

He moved up and kissed her lips. "Mmh. Why do men think we like that? I can taste myself on you." Sherlock laughed softly and pulled a tissue from the stand. "Yes I'm sure women never do that to you" he said dapping his face and taking a sip of water. "Now is everything to madam's liking?" she kissed him in response and pushed him on the bed and got on top of him. Sherlock caressed her breasts and she moved to his neck, kissing and nibbling and he moaned in response. Maintaining eye contact she kissed his abs, his thighs, his feet, up again and again, kissing him and licking him everywhere but one place and continued the circuit till he was quivering with pleasure. "Ah! Irene please….. please.." his voice deep and sexy laced with arousal  
"Made you beg. Twice."

"Ah! Please….. Do something to alleviate this feeling of…. Yeeees…" she was now fondling his testicles.

"I…. need… you to…. Um…" Sherlock turned red and could not form his sentence.

"Sorry sweetheart I don't give blowjobs for free" Irene said and that statement hurt Sherlock more than anything ever had. Was she really thinking him to just be a client? Was she repaying him for helping her? Before he could form another thought she guided his penis to her entrance and they both hummed in pleasure.

"Don't think. I don't do this for free either. But here we are….. ummmm… you.. are not a client."

And she steadied herself on him. The sensations coursing through Sherlock were fascinating him in more ways than one. He was now fuelled by her musk and her pleasure. "ooooooh Irene."

"Fucking hell Sherlock ….. that voice will make me come. Say something."

"I love…. Your breasts….aaahhhhh….. ummmmmmmmm. Ooooooh… your back and youuuurrrr…. Aaaaah… hair." And with every word Irene was getting closer to her release. She got off her elbows and lay on his chest still moving to their steady rhythm. She then her hand travelled down. 'hmmm she isn't getting enough stimulation from our current position…. Fascinating how the woman works.'

"I can hear you think." Irene said in a hushed tone.

He moved her hand and replaced it with his, happy to help. "yesss.. dooo that…" she was so wet,the bed sheet and Sherlock were drenched. He was so hypnotized by her, but he wasn't getting enough friction. He turned around and she was at the bottom. She stared at him as he fastened their pace and kept moving his fingers on her nub. She slowly slipped her hand in his mouth for Sherlock to suck it and she lost her breath. She loved being inside him somehow and he could see that. Irene could now see his every muscle flex. Those tight shirts did not do him enough justice. Now as he looked down at her, his hair in his eyes and his face taught I concentration, he looked so vey sleek.

"What are you thinking? Tell me….. it'll help"

"Why are you doing this? I need to hold on a bit, I've read that it's an embarrassment if a man climaxes first. Perhaps we've been acting on our increased endorphins, I should know better. I've seen tons of cases where…."

"Shhhhhhh…. Calm down….. no…don't stop. I'm doing this because I'm attracted to you and I love your big aaahhh….. in me and your lips on me, with you feeling me when we….. oh god… a little to the left… yes, yes, yes, yes yes…. Right there Sherlock. Don't stop….. ughhhh." Sherlock did as he was asked and the noises that she was making were making him loose his mind. She was growing tighter. He felt infinitely alive in that moment moving in and out of her velvety, warm wetness, and her pleasure was exciting him.

Their legs tangled and the sheets bunched around them, irene held on to sherlock's shoulder blade and grabbed the pillow to steady herself. She saw how Sherlock was trying very hard to have control. She smirked and squeezed him

"Fuck Irene…." He said in his warm honey voice, Irene screeched as she came and squeezing Sherlock tightly, scratching his back wildly. They were both covered in a thin layer of sweat by then

"Oh irene you're so warm and tight…. Fuck, fuck, fuck….." Sherlock screamed loudly, sexily as he climaxed in her, taking her with him. They both lay there breathing raggedly.

She attempted to move away, but Sherlock hugged her close to him, "Don't women need to feel attached after intercourse?"

"Not all of us…mmmm... maybe sometimes" and she nestled close to him. "How are you so good at it?"

"Enjoyed that, did you? I did." Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at her like a five-year-old waiting for an answer.

"Yes, but that doesn't answer my question. John?"

"We are not a couple."

"Yes, you are. But I can share you, if I have to."

"So?"

Sherlock sighed, "Research."

"Well I'm impressed."

"Thank… oooooh!Irene we didn't"

"Sherlock I'm a sex worker, I know how to be safe. Calm down and lay back."

"Hmmm… I need more time to learn and make deductions the next time." He said enjoying them warmth emanating from her skin and very pleased with her post coital glow.

"What did you observe this time, then?"

"Your nipples are sensitive, you like it when I bite you and that you are impressed by the size of my penis."

"All seven inches of it."

"Seven and a half."

"Your vanity is bigger than mine." She laughed softly.

Sounds of footsteps from the living room interrupted Sherlock's reverie. He thought that it could be Mrs. Hudson, cleaning up, but seconds later he heard his violin playing Schumann's Traumerie, the romantic notes of which floated in the air softly. Only a skilled violinist such as himself could play it well. He hurriedly got up, putting his dressing gown on. As the music went on, he moved forward slowly taking in the person before him. He saw her slowly turning her arm, with her eyes closed as her eyelashes cast long shadows across her cheeks. The dim light from the dying fire threw light across her person. She was nothing short of a thing of beauty and then he remembered who it was and where he'd see her. "Ambassador. It is yet again my pleasure to be at your service."


	6. Chapter 6

"I pride myself in being unforgettable, Sherlock. How could you forget?"

"Hard drive Ma'am, sometimes I accidentally delete things off it." It was no accident; he'd wanted to get rid of all memories of her. She had made him kill three men. She was bored with her life and now got off on mind games and killings, much like Sherlock. Hyacinth Silsbury, professionally known as the Ambassador. She was the godfather in flesh. She wasn't a consultant criminal or a detective. She was a professional businesswoman. She could have easily aided him in his hour of need, but favors taken from Ambassador Silsbury came with a high price.

"You should have come to me," she said "I could have helped you Sherlock. You shouldn't have lied, all that beating in Nairobi, was it worth it?" she said with false emotion in her voice, as if Sherlock was a long lost family member. 'So that was her, she wanted to confirm that it was in fact me' Sherlock thought. He knew her and her ways all too well. There was a quality about her that made people want to impress her, even Sherlock. He'd helped her help a 'friend' of hers to get some revenge. That particular friend was now strategically placed somewhere in the French government. Sherlock wasn't exactly afraid of her, but he felt the closest thing to fear. Her being so very close to his pressure points made him uneasy. She was quite the seductress and Sherlock knew that she had long wanted Sherlock. Although she had never really openly accepted it, or flamboyantly made a move on him or said anything that had even suggested the very act of sex, but it was evident she hardly needed Sherlock's help for the case that he'd solved five years ago, or now. She was a woman of her own and that precisely was the reason why Sherlock had immense respect for her, even if she could be cruel, because by the end of the day she was simply a brat who'd always gotten what she wanted, besides her beauty could not go amiss even to Sherlock. A familiar set of deduction came to his mind now,

Daddy's girl…. Has two ponies

...LONGEST RELATIONSHIP: 2 weeks and eight hours

Bisexual….. Demisexual… more importantly sapiosexual

Shopaholic… DOMINATRIX…

Early riser Swimmer

…. Afraid of spiders

Half sister's location: unknown

Doesn't cook…. Likes theatre

Atheist

OBJECTIVIST….

Clever… can be comical and entertaining… FEMINIST

Proud…. Arrogant, pedantic

Proficiently plays violin…

Sexually active… ruthless and savage at times….. Honest

"Done?" she asked

"I'm sorry Ms. Silsbury."

She grinned and the light once again danced across her face, as she put down the violin and made her way to chair that was Sherlock's. She looked at the fire, while he stared at her unsure of what to do. He cleared his throat to start, before she interrupted him "I'll have the Talisker."

Sherlock shut his mouth and went to pour it for her. He turned back to see her staring at him intently and walked towards her handing her the glass and was once again unaware of what to do. One never sat or talked unless instructed by her, Sherlock looked around to see none of her minions were around. "You came here alone, in a cab?" She cringed and broodingly looked at her glass, she really hated being asked unnecessary questions. Sherlock was truly enthralled by her. He found her beautiful inside and out, warts and all, but she always put him ill at ease despite being open and friendly, which made her even more scintillating. She took another sip and pouted, running her finger across the rim of the glass. "You know me. You must have deduced why I'm here tonight, or here in London at all."

"No ma'am".

For the first time he saw the look of surprise on her face. Sherlock was standing; even then he didn't feel like he had the upper hand. It felt as though she was controlling all the elements in the room, everything was working in her advantage. The warmth of the fire glowed towards her; the light was on her face, Sherlock's laptop, a place where he stored all of his cases' information was closer to her. She was sitting in his chair. She knew why she was here and Sherlock didn't.

She glanced over at John's chair and then at Sherlock. Sherlock didn't know what to make of that. Was he supposed to sit?

She looked at John's chair again and at him.

"Was Mary Morstan your sister?" he asked in a quiet voice, his curiosity had piqued and he needed answers,

"No." she said nonchalantly.

The Silsbury in Mycroft's office and the Silsbury in 221B were different. In the ministry she was a powerful, government official who was much superior to the man who ran the government, she had a queen like quality about her there. An asexual grace that showed how influential she could be. Here in his home although she was still powerful, since power was her central trait, she seemed more like a bored princess. Everything about her from her purple dress, to her flowing Mahogany hair oozed sensuality. She looked so very delectable that Sherlock feared that even her slightest touch would make him go wild with lust. She still had her louboutin's on and Sherlock could see her ring gleaming orange and red as the fire. She had hooded eyes that looked intently at the space above the fireplace.

"Sit." She said and Sherlock tried his hardest to do so, as elegantly as possible, in John's shabby chair.

Sherlock saw something else now, not her but the situation. She was sitting there sulking wearing purple and she had been playing the violin in the middle of the night. She was taking him along on a task to make him go on an adventure, but to her this was a regular thing. She had done this many times, dealt with sticky situations. She knew what he was thinking, but he was clueless about her. She was ordering him around, she was beautiful and non emotive. He was sitting there in a chair, waiting for her to say something clever, waiting for her to make a move, unaware as to what she wanted. Uncertain about her feelings, sloppily dressed in nothing but a t shirt and pajama pants, while she was the perfect image of a thorough bred child. "Oh." He said as the wind was knocked out him. She put her hand under her chin and smiled widely still looking at the mantel, "Correct".

Sherlock was John. Hyacinth was Sherlock. Her eyes danced around the room while Sherlock closed his eyes as his lips pressed in a thin line.

"Irene wasn't wrong. She's never wrong when it comes to physicality. I like her and it appears we have similar interests." She said as Sherlock opened his eyes wide.

"You've slept with her?" Sherlock regretted asking this question the moment it fell out of his mouth. He felt so out of control around this woman.

Hyacinth laughed a short and seething laugh that sounded more like a gruff, looking at her drink and said, "She merely slept with me. Are you jealous?"

"No Ms. Silsbury, I'm not jealous of you."

"I wasn't suggesting that you are jealous of me." And realization hit him as hard as Mary's betrayal had. He was jealous. Not of the Ambassador, but The Woman. Because something had changed between the woman and him. She wasn't the same. She was ruled by sentiments and endorphins. Her vanity had gotten her nowhere, ultimately she was just a damsel in distress and had turned into one of his clients: a helpless soul. He wasn't attracted to just people, he was attracted to their ability to control, tame and maim. This was the promise that Silsbury had.

"Get up" she ordered. Sherlock complied.

"Take off your shirt" and Sherlock did so. She leaned back in the chair and put her left index finger on her forehead and held her glass in the other.

"Take off your trousers." Sherlock did so, his heart rate increasing. He felt extremely exposed to her. She was staring at him intently, but appeared as if she was simply inspecting a piece of art that she was to purchase, to adorn her gallery back home. "Take off your pants." Sherlock inelegantly stumbled out of them.

"Sit" she said getting up and gesturing towards his chair. She knew that he needed to have the illusion of control to be someone she wanted to get off to. She moved to the exact spot he'd taken his clothes off on.

"Take off your clothes" Sherlock said hoarsely. She rolled her eyes and took off everything even her flimsy undergarments and stood, comfortably in the middle of the room, like this was something that she often did. "What now?" she asked.

"I want you to go to my room and get on the bed and wait for me."

She looked at him seriously; he thought he was really going to have control. He was going to make her do things. She found herself impressed by his confidence. So she went to his bedroom and taking off her shoes and lay on the bed. It was soft and she felt cozy in it, this was a generic sexual act, to make the other person wait, it wasn't just common to men, she knew that everyone thought that if she waited long enough she would genuinely want them. But this time, she truly wanted Sherlock, had wanted him for a long time, but she never slept with virgins, 'they get too clingy' even if it was someone like Sherlock. Irene had told her that he spent two weeks with her in bed, he made these grand romantic gestures which to Irene was nothing new, but she too was smitten, ultimately it was Hyacinth who had to force Irene to get away and never return, if Moriarty was after Sherlock, he would have definitely come after The Woman, who was an important asset to The Ambassador. He entered the room moments later. She glanced down and saw that he was almost ready. Sherlock got on top of her and slowly kissed her mouth at first and then roughly. He rubbed her thighs with his hands. He was about to make his way into the v between her legs when her phone began to buzz. In one swift movement she pushed him off and got up. She looked back at him through the door "Wait there," she said as if she was asking him to stay on hold as she talked to another caller.

Sherlock watched her bottom move and thought, 'my life really isn't that bad' and smiled to himself.

She came back in frowning slightly, "I'm going. Duty calls." She pecked him on his cheek, "Rub one out." She winked at him and he followed her as she put her clothes back on, before exiting she turned to him, holding onto his neck whispered, "Don't forget to send me the audio." Sherlock tuned red, catching the last glimpse of her bottom, thinking 'Yuppp…life's still good.'


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock expected her to return that night. He waited all night and the morning after, but she didn't show. While fear was something that persisted in his mind every time he met her, he felt a longing to meet her again. John returned with a very cheery Caroline around one in the afternoon. "I think she missed you." John said handing her to Sherlock, who was sitting with his arms outstretched in his chair. Sherlock smiled, as John leaned in, if only he could kiss him, he sighed and said, "I missed you too" Looking at the toddler, but saying it to John. She laughed in her soft baby voice and Sherlock smiled at her. She began to babble about her days with her alcoholic aunt. Sherlock heard her out like he was solving an important case, oohing and nodding along, while John peered from behind the newspaper now and then to look at the two and grin. "So what has rosy cheeks got to say?" asked Mrs. Hudson as she entered the apartment with Christmas pudding and Caroline's formula. "Well, she has started teething, so her lower gums have been bothering her, her back hurts slightly, because she had been put in the baby chair for a longer time than usual at dinner. She's afraid of the doll that her aunt has given her, to be honest I think she finds the gender specific stereotypical toy offensive and odd," Sherlock said like the most arrogant and proud parent. "She has in fact missed me, she likes the way I smell, and she likes leaning in and listening to my heartbeat." Caroline, right on cue, leaned onto his chest still humming a song and playing with her fingers. "She's also missed you Hudders and your wrinkly hands, although I don't think she's missed your wet kisses. She is also concerned that something has been changed on the mantel without consulting her. Although I think the last part might just be me."

"You are not getting your cigs back. How did you figure all that out?"

John interrupted "She's teething? Should I get her a relaxant?"

"Not for another three days." Sherlock replied.

"How was your Christmas?" John asked,

"Oh wonderful" "Boring", Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock replied at the same time. Mrs. Hudson made a face at him and remembering, "Was a client here last night?" she asked him. "Of sorts."

Sherlock replied still looking at the baby in his lap, kissing her on her head, who looked up and smiled and went back to her humming. The bell rung and Mrs. Hudson went down to check.

"What do you mean, 'of sorts'?" John asked.

He was about to answer when he saw his brother enter, looking stressed and extremely disheveled. "Did you?" Mycroft asked smiling with effort and shutting his eyes.

"Almost."

Mycroft turned red and his voice dropped an octave lower than usual, "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, if you ever and I mean ever, almost or all the way sleep with that vile woman, know this, your time in Uzbekistan will seem like heaven. You will long to go back that horrible place where they treated you like the animal you are and will wish your own death. If by chance I fail to find my heart to do so, although I fail to see how, you will be dead to me." Mycroft spoke through thin his lips taught in a line.

"What does she have on you?"

"Nothing Sherlock. Its not about me." Caroline made a noise towards Mycroft and extended her arms to him, "I'm sorry, but you're just not my kind of person." Mycroft said to her.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft trying to deduce Mycroft, who huffed and left.

"What was that all about?" John asked with a slight hitch in his voice

"I don't know." Sherlock whispered and said loudly again, "Now then M'lady, may I have the pleasure of dancing with you?" he asked Caroline who stared blankly at him, "I shall take that as a yes". He turned on the music he'd recorded for her and began waltzing about in the flat with the baby, who seemed more than overjoyed. John still thinking about 'the vile woman' went back to the paper, reading the same sentence over and over again.

John left for an impromptu date that evening, after asking Sherlock to take care of the baby. "I've been meaning to have some time alone with you. Your father really does intrude. I must discuss this woman Hyacinth Silsbury," he talked to Caroline as he flitted about the house looking for clean clothes for her, "Don't fuss now, but I need to bathe you" but Caroline did fuss, getting her out of her clothes and putting her into the bath without hurting her was a herculean task. Once she was in and ready to spend some time playing with bubbles, Sherlock started talking to her again, "So I met her in Africa, she's very powerful and is ready to kill anyone who gets in her way at the drop of the hat. People call her the ambassador. I think she's beautiful, but of course you are a toddler who is unaware of the construct that is beauty, and the only reason you are here is, because you like playing with bubbles and I need some rest before I battle you out of that water again." Caroline babbled with a frown and splashed water, ruining the front of his shirt. "Yes, that is how I feel as well…"Sherlock was interrupted by his phone buzzing. He groaned when he saw that the call was a blocked phone. "Can I never have some quality time with my best friend?" he spoke exasperatedly to Caroline, who glided to the other side and started playing with the water again. Sherlock answered to hear a member of his homeless network answer, "Yo Shezza, I got the newzz on da woman you aksed me tuh get."

"What is it Mike?"

"Take down da numba of this guy, he can help you." 'Shezza' listened intently and the hung up.

"Well sweetie it's time to get out of the warmth of the water, that reminds you of your mothers womb and into the cold harsh reality," Caroline wailed not wanting to leave as Sherlock washed her and dried her off, "Fear not my child, I'll always keep you warm." He hugged her tightly and put her on the bed, wrapping her layers so she wouldn't feel cold.

"Are you a nanny now, Sherlock Holmes?" said Mycroft who was leaning at the threshold.

"What do you want?" Sherlock snapped at him shortly.

"I need you to start working, Ms. Silsbury is-" he looked at Sherlock deciding to give up, "An absolute bitch, who has nothing on your or me, but she has things on mother. I don't know all of it, but I do know this, we have sister. Well had, who died recently in childbirth, so we have niece, a niece that she has in her captivity perhaps. Or perhaps she is dead."

"A sister? Have you gone thick? If we had an elder sister, she'd have to be fifty, which means that she would be menopausal. If she is younger, exactly when did she birth her? I don't remember mother being pregnant. Or do you think she just manifested out of thin air and happens to share our DNA?"

"Do you remember that time, when mother went to Harvard to work as a professor for two years?"

"Yes, but we went to see her at Christmas and during the school break."

"Not the second Christmas. She was very adamant to keep us in Britain that year. If you would recall she was afraid that a snowstorm would kill us all on our way to meet her. We spent the Christmas at aunt Marge's house."

Sherlock looked like he'd lost his footing. He stared at Mycroft completely frozen. Caroline rolled over and fell off the bed and started crying, Sherlock still shocked made no move. Mycroft walked across to pick her up, and cooed softly to her, humming and singing to calm the hurt baby down. She looked at him as if to question what he had done to upset Sherlock. Mycroft gently patted her back, he remembered when it was just as easy to make Sherlock feel safe, 'If only' he thought. Sherlock had still not moved. "Sherlock?" Mycroft questioned him.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock spoke suddenly alert, and taking the baby from him.

"I just wanted you to know that if you wish to" Mycroft spoke with a pained expression. "Get physical with that Silsbury woman then it really isn't my place to say anything. You need to…. Feel alive, more human perhaps? I don't know why she would come here, when you would work for her nonetheless. It must mean that she really is attracted to you. But she is a bad person, and I never say that. She is the worst kind of bad because she's not evil. There is nothing worse than mediocrity."

"Because she harms people who upset her, like you and your Queen?"

"I've said too much. I've upset you."

"Goodnight Mycroft."

Mycroft sighed and left.

Sherlock decided to feed Caroline, who seemed to be sad. Sherlock thought of her more as a loyal pet than anything else, she was extremely perceptive and he believed that most little people are. She quickly read emotions and mirrored them, sometimes even diffusing the discomfort with her babbling or laughing. She often reminded him of Redbeard. She was a good kid and Sherlock never seemed to mind her, even when she behaved like a brattish one. He was more than happy to oblige her with what she wanted because she was delight to be around otherwise. John arrived an hour later, smiling and clearly glowing with pre coital relief. Sherlock felt something inside him twist and break, but he put on a brave face and asked, "How was your date? You look happy."

"It was fine. Good actually. Its getting late I should take the midget home."

"Ah, yes! You simply must, she needs her rest to spend an entire day with Hudders tomorrow. I feel sorry for her."

"Goodnight Sherlock" John said and came in for a hug and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. Sherlock stiffened.

"Well that was weird. I think I've had too much wine." John slurred, screwing his eyes.

"Yes." Sherlock squeaked.

After the Watsons left Sherlock went to his room unzipping his trousers and feeling his way down. He took off all his clothes and lay down in the middle of the bed. Trying to remember John's scent and the feeling of his lips on his skin. He grew harder and began stroking himself slowly. He remembered John in his army uniform, muscly and full of authority. Sherlock remembered the first time John had pulled a rank in Baskerville. Sherlock was definitely growing harder. He imagined John turning red as Sherlock took of his shirt, staring into his eyes and he imagined taking off John's pants and kissing his chest. Moving back up, kissing John on his lips while moving his hand southward to stroke his penis. Sherlock reached over his bedside to help himself to some Vaseline. The vision of John in his uniform returned, he now saw John moving close to Sherlock pressing his entire body to Sherlock's, biting down on his lip and kissing him roughly. Sherlock imagined taking the entire length of John in his mouth, he knew that John was well endowed because of John's gait. Sherlock imagined bobbing his head and watching John loose his mind like Irene had. John moaning as Sherlock pressed into his prostate. The image made Sherlock moan loudly and move his hand faster. Sherlock pressed his face in the pillow as he imagined John coming in his mouth and Sherlock replayed the bit over and over again, until he arched his back, his hand moving furiously, his neck extremely strained and his muscles taught like a the bow over his violin strings, he finally saw John smile at him and look at him and he let go and came screaming "JOHN… John….. John…aaaaaah…. Oh John! JOOOOHHHHHHHHNN!" he laid there letting his heart beat slow down and sighed melancholically "John". He heard the door to the apartment close and the sound of footsteps fading away. He rolled over grinning to himself hoping it was John and not Hudders.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock was sure of the fact that these sources of The Ambassador were fictitious. He had asked Mike to get him in touch with London's most active arms dealer. Silsbury had an innate respect and love for the Russians, which is why she kept very close ties with some of the most resourceful Russians. So if any dealing of arms transpired, even the slightest of movements, of something as trifle as the sale of bullets shells, she would know. She knew how everything worked in the underground world of mafia. She didn't need to rule it; she didn't even intervene she simply watched. She was a voyeur by nature. The real mystery was not the case here; the real mystery was her motive to Sherlock. If Mary Morstan was not her sister or her friend, or her lover (since Mary was heterosexual) then her reason to be there was unclear. If he could somehow get a trace of anyone whom she claimed to be her informant, then Sherlock could prove that she was lying. But that was not an easy task. She left no loose ends; she was thorough and meticulous, which frustrated Sherlock to no end, which is why she never had any government records last in the system for more than twenty eight days, so one thing was clear that she had been in London for a week before she met him. She didn't play games like Moriarty who played for playing or Magnussen who played for winning or Irene who played to prove a point, in this respect she was different from all of them, this was precisely the reason behind her superiority to Mycroft, this was why he didn't see her as another goldfish. Unlike them she had never been a maladjusted youth; she didn't come from an unstable or traumatic childhood. She was an evolved functioning adult, the kind of adult that parents are proud to have brought into the world and raised. If Irene had been the one perfect example of the woman, then Hyacinth was the pinnacle of human; she seemed to him like the shining beacon of perfection that overshadowed everything around it. To her time was money and she never wasted it. She hadn't returned to him since the Christmas morning and Sherlock…. Wanted her. Sherlock decided to roll out of bed he had to make a phone call. He dialed the number and waited the call to be answered.

"Hello Sherly. Sweetheart-"

Sherlock spoke in a clipped and unattached tone "Stop mother. Did you have an affair when you were at Harvard and a child by any chance with your…" Sherlock was beginning to loose his cool "lover?" he got no response from the other end.

"Take your time mum."

"Oh yesss loooove, I would love to have tea with you on Sunday." Sherlock sensed that his father was around.

"Fine, but I will tell father if you don't. Shall we meet at my place then?"

"Oh I was thinking something more like L'opera. Don't worry about your father he will be fine. Yes, yes four o'clock suits me just fine. Mwaaaaah…" She began to whisper "Not one word Sherlock, till I speak with you, invite Mycroft over too. Your father must never know."

"That can't happen."

"Oh here he wants to talk to you."

"I don't."

"Sherlock, how are you son? We were hoping to see you on Christmas or new years. I feel like we don't spend enough time together. In fact you and I have haven't even talked for more than five minutes since you got back from the whole death… scene. Would you like to go with me to a cricket match, you used to like that as a kid?"

"I'm not a child anymore."

Mister Holmes stuttered "Then football? How about a movie? How about to a pub to have a drinky with your old man? Perhaps find a nice girl for you there?"

"I have told the two of you that girlfriends aren't really my area. How many times-" he spoke angrily

"Maybe a nice boy then to-"

"Father! Relationships. Are. Not. My area. Leave it at that." Sherlock spoke softly now "I wouldn't mind going to the pub and… um… having a beer with you…"

"I didn't mean to upset you. Thank you, how does next Wednesday sound?"

"It's fine." He then hung up without saying a goodbye. Sherlock didn't care about his father; he knew his father was forgiving and emotional like John. When Sherlock killed Syprin he had bawled while his mother simply stared at Sherlock and then called the cops to tell them that his brother, a mentally unstable child had run outside to the highway and hit himself on a signpost, his father just kept crying and sobbing "Why?... Sherlock? Why?..." The cops accepted the story given by his parents and left, Sherlock kept fidgeting hoping for some form of punishment. Mycroft was informed and he returned from Harrow for the funeral. Mycroft had struck Sherlock the moment he entered home, Sherlock had fallen on his back and his t-shirt lifted and Mycroft could clearly see the bruises across his abdomen. Mycroft saw the tears streaming down Sherlock's face and lifted him up and carried him to his bed. Sherlock remembered falling asleep in his brother's embrace, finally calm. Sherlock had woken up around seven in the evening and he tiptoed downstairs to assess the mood of the room before he could ask for dinner. He heard Mycroft speaking in a pained tone "I thought he was making a big deal out of nothing. I didn't know it was that terrible… I thought he was just seeking my attention…." Sherlock peeked inside to see his father crying yet again, but this time for Sherlock; and his mother with her back hunched over with her face in her hands. She began to speak but saw Sherlock and cooed, "Come here Sherlock. Come on Willy, tell mummy everything."

"I'm hungry." Sherlock rasped.

"Well why don't you tell me what happened while I cook?"

Sherlock nodded. He confessed to everything he'd seen and she listened showing no emotion. He could hear the sobs of his father from the next room and Mycroft pacing anxiously. The night seemed to drag on as his parents screamed and reprimanded Mycroft who held Sherlock's hand through it all, his parents then informed relatives and family friends about the "accidental" death and then as the neighbors poured in with food and condolences. The funeral was grim, but no one cried for his brother, though half of them seemed pleased. Sherlock was forced into therapy, but he didn't need it. He had already dealt with his antecedent factor. The ultimate therapy was killing his brother. He had been put in conduct classes, where they basically drilled the fact that no one has the power to kill anyone into children's minds. None of the children there were slow ones. They were aware of who they were from a very young age. Sherlock was the lost one; he didn't know that he was a sociopath. But the other kids did, one of them was a psychopath. Sherlock had no desire whatsoever to kill anyone. He didn't even want to kill his brother, but Redbeard had meant the world to him ultimately the therapy ended when Sherlock pointed out to the counselor, that her husband was a pedophile and having an affair with as fifteen-year-old high school cheerleader.

He heard John downstairs handing over Caroline to Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock began playing the waltz for John and Mary. Sherlock had poured all of his feelings into the song. The joy for John and Mary, his love for John, the longing to be with John that he hinted at with the halted x notes that hung in the air longer than the other ones which were quickly twisted to become a descant for the wedding instead of a farewell to his dearest. John stood at the threshold and cleared his throat and Sherlock started to play Irene's theme. The only tune that John associated with Sherlock's sexuality, Sherlock was blatantly suggesting at John having heard him the previous night. Sherlock had been exposed, in his raw primal instinct much like the song, much like Irene. John walked over to the chair and sat down and interrupted Sherlock, "So, no new cases?"

Sherlock finished clumsily, as he realized that it was in fact Mrs. Hudson who had heard him the previous night.

"Yes, there is one. In fact it's in Dartmoor. If you'd like to join me we must leave at once."

"Excellent, what is it about?"

"I'll tell you on the way. Do you have an overnight bag with you?"

"Yes, let me tell Mrs. Hudson that she will have to take care of the little one."

On the train ride there, sherlock explained to John the facts of the case that he knew. "This one is a bit unusual. The Dartmoor zoological park houses some 150 animals. The Siberian Lynx has gone missing."

"Missing? How?"

"Precisely. Ah! But there's more, there are two caretakers for the lynx. One of them is present at all times to care for the lynx. So they work in shifts, one takes the morning shift one takes the night. There is one trainer, and one busboy who daily delivers food for the caretakers for lunch and dinner. They eat nothing else on the job. Now the caretaker Simon is dead. Murder they say. I have no first hand data to go on. But we know this," Sherlock produced a piece of paper from his pocket "and I quote 'the bus boy was on his way to deliver supper to Simon (they give the same food to the caretakers that the everyone eats in the cafeteria, so it was consumed by more than fifty employees) when he was stopped by a tall well groomed man, who was of some repute (we can't be sure, he probably assumed that from his clothes) and the man asked the bus boy (Farley his name is) to let him deliver the food that night in exchange for five hundred pounds. The boy of age fourteen refused to accept the offer (he enjoys working with animals too much to loose his job) and carried on. It's a five-minute walk from the cafeteria to the enclosure, it was dark and the boy was carrying a torch that guided him. Farley didn't try to find the man, as he was scared and didn't bother asking him why he was in the zoo half an hour after it was closed for the public. The kid told Simon about what had happened and at that very moment, the man in question peered inside from the cage and began offering money to the caretaker. He then took out an envelope and a gun. Farley ran out of the enclosure and into the main reception, scared and raised an alarm at once. But when the zoo workers got there, the stableman was outside, dead and the lynx was missing.' Unquote. Now the food was half eaten, and the police tasted roofies in it. But no one in the house noticed it. Interesting drug roofies are. They don't have a foul odor so a significant change in taste cannot be identified. But the food was half eaten, so he must have noticed a slight difference and stopped eating. Also the Trainer didn't get along with Simon and the iron grill was not big enough to fit a man through it. That's all we know for now." Sherlock finished.

"So what do you think? Was it the caretaker who sold out?"

"I don't think so. Maybe the man who was trespassing was from a rival zoo or he wanted to possess the rare animal. The zoo is quite popular and has been featured in many films. A competitor would definitely want the name tarnished. We'll make our conclusions after we have seen everything."

"Hmm…." John said. Sherlock sat back looking out the window staring at John's reflection in it.

"Sherlock was….. um…. Nevermind."

"No, go on."

"DidyoushagIreneAdler ?" John asked hurriedly.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked.

John didn't answer for a long time and then said "Nothing." And began fiddling with his phone. 'Oh how adorable you are doctor when you are jealous.' Sherlock thought and continued staring out the window at the passing stations.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock had solved the case in less than an hour. The Syberian lynx had been kidnapped by the trainer and disguised to look like cat that she was petting. Bestiality, open and shut. The lynx had scratched the caretaker who was hemophilic which had lead to his death. Sherlock was extremely disappointed that John and he would not be staying overnight. He had made a reservation at a lodge with just five rooms and he had taken the last one. So blue was Sherlock that he failed to notice things around him that would have given away the presence of a visitor, as climbed up the stairs. He opened the door to his apartment and there she was, The Ambassador. Wearing a purple jersey jumpsuit, which made her legs and arms look longer. She was sitting in his chair again; drinking what sherlock presumed was the Talisker. He huffed at the pouting woman whose lips he wanted to bite into. “Oh, am I in your spot?” she spoke, a smile tugging at her lips.  
“mm…sss..fff..no. I mean No, you’re not ma’am.” Sherlock replied.  
“You’re lying. You’ve been a bad boy haven’t you Sherlock?” She got up now, putting the glass on the side table. Sherlock stood still, she moved around him in a circle like a hunter ready to attack its prey. “How dare you jerk off and not think of me?”  
She whispered seductively in his ear from behind him. He shuddered, when felt her breath on his neck. He quickly opened his eyes, which he hadn’t noticed, were shut; when realization hit him, she had heard him the previous night.  
She was standing behind him and he could feel her heat even through his jacket. She knocked him over, by hitting the back of his knees with hers. He was now on the ground and he cried out “Irene!!!”  
“Mmmmm…… if I didn’t know better I’d be jealous.” She said.  
Which got sherlock thinking, what he had said would have definitely made any woman jealous. Irene was a dominatrix and he had associated Silsbury’s actions with that of a harlot. His curiosity got the better of him and he asked her, “How do you mean that?”  
She was licking her lips when he turned to look back at her, she subtly composed her facial features and went back, this time to sit on John’s chair. Sherlock tried to get up, but she just clucked her tongue and he stay put.  
She began talking seriously, “Sherlock, when you met Irene, she acted as a guide to your understanding of the fact, that you have not only denied your sexuality, but the pleasures it brings, which evidently prevented you from understanding its true nature. That made you what?”  
“Vulnerable.” Sherlock answered, honestly  
“Quite right. Inside your head chambers, she is your sexuality. The hot and bothered desire you have no idea how to deal with. She isn’t the object of your desire, she never has been and never will be, no matter how many times you, ‘RAM HER against the wall and take her’” she said quoting him. He had said that Irene and followed through. Of course the ambassador would know. Irene was clearly her pet. She continued,  
“She is just the embodiment of it. What happened a few minutes back, when I got you on your knees?”  
“I associated a memory with the present.”  
“How did you feel?”  
“Aroused.”  
“Why?”  
“Because you are the object of my desire, I need you.”  
“What happened then, when you were with Irene?”  
“I saw her as a conquest, rather than someone I want. That’s why you made her leave. Of course it was you. You’ve got me and you’ve protected her. One stone, two birds. Neat.”  
“Why did ramming her against the wall, not help?” Silsbury asked in an even tone  
Sherlock looked at her hollowly.  
“Because sex is our response to our highest value and can be nothing else.”  
“Ergo sex with her was?” she continued.  
“Soft, slow, tender and boring.”  
“Because it was the opposite of who you are.”  
Sherlock looked sideways, thinking  
“Why do you think John and I attract you?”  
“Because John helps me decipher what is normal for me and not others, there are no inhibitions with him, its liberating. With you it’s slightly different, you are a version of me. I am much like you. You know what I’m going to do and how I’ll act. You know who I am because you see yourself in me. You are to me the most brilliant of human beings, second only after John. But, your overwhelming desire to always have the upper hand, hampers your judgment, your needs. You carefully guard your primal instincts to get ahead. Yes, sexuality is something that evades me, but you? You use it as a weapon. What I bring out in you is exactly what you bring out in me. Want. The want, to be cherished by someone who’s worth cherishing. Because the truth remains, whether I like to admit it or not, there can be another John, but there can be but one you. It was a mere coincidence that John walked into my life and I…. I ….. ” Sherlock stared at her as he lost the ability to finish his sentence.  
She got up and moved to him. He looked up to her and she said, this time with some underlying emotion, “You love but him alone. Its such waste.”  
“A waste because I can’t do the same to you?”  
She stroked his face “No because had you not known me prior to our meeting in number 10, my advances would have been all to naught. You are wrong Sherlock; your brother always says that coincidences are unlikely because the universe is rarely that lazy. It could mean that the universe wants you two, to fuck.”  
Sherlock craned his neck to kiss her and she slapped him. He could taste the blood on his lips. He grinned. She pulled his hair back and the scraping of her nails against his skull made him moan. His conversation with her had given him newfound confidence.  
“I see you haven’t played in a while. Your nails are longer than are ideal for a violinist.”  
She kissed him roughly and he kissed back. “Mmmm…. I’ve been busy.” She kissed him again and then moved to sit in his chair. “Play for me curlylocks.” She said breathlessly, Sherlock smiled at her pun.  
He began playing Johann Sebastian Bach’s Sonata No.1 in G minor for BMV. Halfway through the song he turned to look at her and she had taken off her jumpsuit. His hand slipped and the bow loosely went haywire on the violin. “Don’t stop,” she said sweetly.  
She then took off her bra and then her pants, without breaking eye contact and Sherlock was having a very hard time remembering the notes to the song. He shut his eyes and concentrated on nothing but the song, a few seconds later he heard her moan. Sherlock looked back to see her fondling her beautiful breasts. Her areolas were dark and pert. He continued playing, but with more confidence now, it was a power trip having the ability to make someone consumed with lust. After he hit the high note, he saw her hand traveling southwards. Her one hand was still on her left breast and the other was moving slowly on her clitoris. He played faster and her hand moved more furiously and with more pressure. He finished hurriedly and made his way towards the writhing woman. He pushed her hands away and took her left breast in his mouth and sucked, he did the same with the right, while his hand travelled below he kept sucking her breasts and moved his fingers on her. She moaned “oh yes. Oh yes…. Yess….ah!”   
His long fingers were making her wild and wet, she was shaking and he knew her release was close. He inserted one long finger in her opening and she moaned he added another and started pumping them in and out. His other hand still rubbing long luscious circles on her clit. He found his position awkward and decided to give up playing with her breasts. She groaned in disapproval, he shushed her, throwing her legs on his shoulders. His face then dipped into her sex, his fingers still pumping. “Oh sherlock!!! Im going to….. I’mm…. ughhhhh” without warning Sherlock took his fingers out and stepped away from the chair. She cried out, agonized, hot and flushed. Sherlock licked his fingers and said, “You’re not the only one who likes having hand.”  
“You are a monster, if you think that I’m going to miss an orgasm because of….” He laughed and grabbed her by her wrists and kissed her.   
“Aghhh..” she said angrily.  
“I am going to make you come. But you will not touch yourself for a second.”  
She looked at him filled with rage, lust, and frustration.  
“Let me tell you what I observed and let me make deductions of that. He pulled her to the floor. When I kiss you on your breasts you get wet between your legs. When I move my hands you like that…. OH… yesss moan louder. When I stroke your back like this….” Sherlock demonstrated and now Hyacinth wrapped her leg around his thigh and ground herself on him, fast. “Well you…. Umm…ahem do that. What is that? Is that bringing you any relief at all? Is it at all satisfying?” she roared in response, “Oh I see. Am I in any way involved in this?” she moaned and threw he head back on the carpet, grinding herself hard. “Don’t. Stop. Talking.” She said breathlessly to him. After which Sherlock went completely mute.   
She let out a frustrated laugh.   
Sherlock brought his lips close to her ear and whispered in a rough voice “Beg.”  
“Sweetheart, as far as I can tell in a few seconds time you will be begging. So I’m not giving up that easy.” with that she stopped moving laced her legs with his turned them over. “Real men always stay at the bottom.” she winked and moved to remove his trousers and shirt. Sherlock was now only on his pants. She positioned herself right above his crotch and ground herself on him. “Oohhhh!” sherlock squeaked she looked at him smugly and in the next instant Sherlock saw her face change and her eyes go blank. Sherlock held her as she orgasmed above him still moving on him and quaking with ecstasy. Once she was done, she got up and went into his bedroom.   
Sherlock looked after her and called out “Am I supposed to follow?”  
“Please bore someone else with your questions.”   
Sherlock scrambled to his feet and followed her there. She was rummaging through his drawers. “Can I help you?” he inquired  
“No, just browsing.” Sherlock could see she had not found what she was looking for, but in the next instant she pushed him on the bed and attacked him. She bit him on his chest, Sherlock moaned. She then slapped him first on the right cheek, then on the left harder this time harder than before and kept doing it. Sherlock was not prepared for the assault and for the first time found himself rendered pathetic while he was sober.   
He cried out, “uuuuuh.” And tears brimmed in his eyes, after which Silsbury stopped.   
“shhh…shhh…” she cooed, “Its ok. I think that’s enough bashing for today.” Sherlock nodded his face red and swollen now.  
She kissed his face softly and finally positioned him on his entrance and sat on him. Sherlock gasped and Hyacinth made a guttural noise at the back of her throat.   
“How does that feel?” she asked.  
Sherlock half closed his eyes raised his eyebrows his face made an o and he said “Absolutely all consumingly… wonderful.”  
“Consumingly you say? That’s not a word, glad to hear you’re enjoying this enough to bend the rules of your masters at school.”  
“And you’re not?” Sherlock asked trying to be nonchalant.  
She thought of protecting his feelings, but honesty was what would protect his feelings, “No, I am in a way. But you see I’m a masochist. I prefer to not always be the dominant one when I’m fucking for leisure and not work.”   
“Ah! I see.” Sherlock said.  
“But you don’t worry about this now, we have plenty of time to please me later.”  
She continued moving her hips in a circular motion and Sherlock growled loudly. The sweat was increasing the friction on their bodies and Sherlock hummed as he felt his stomach muscles tighten. “NO!” she ordered, “keep your eyes fixed on me. Don’t you dare shut them. Keep looking at me.”  
Sherlock moaned and he moved his hips slightly and brushed against her g spot. Sherlock saw The Ambassador’s face change into a look of sheer pleasure her lips escaped an “ohhh..” softly and she leaned on Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock snaked his hand down and rubbed her where the met and her muscles began to clench, “Come with me.” She said and they both moaned a soft sound as the climaxed. They lay together, waiting for the buzz to end.   
“Would you like some tea or coffee?” Sherlock asked her after a while.  
She smiled in his chest, and spoke slowly “Holmes do you really think I need tea right now?”  
“I don’t have a cigarette,” Sherlock said with an apologetic look on his face.  
“In my bag.”  
Sherlock hadn’t noticed her carrying a bag, he realized she had come to his house for a reason and that was to sleep with him, she knew they would end up in his room. Sherlock reached towards it and opened it forgetting his manners and handed it to her hurriedly saying “Sorry… I don’t know what…”  
“Its fine you help yourself I’ll go clean up.”  
Sherlock found the gesture extremely intimate, it was like unbuttoning her blouse, he found a Walther P9 gun in her Chanel, a lip balm, a roll of £100s , over 8 credit cards and finally a lighter and a box of Dunhills.  
There was just one left and he handed it to her as she came back. She languidly placed it between her lips and he leaned in to light it for. Sherlock was surprised at how erotic he found the experience of lighting a smoke for her and then watching her huff out the white mist.   
“Was it that disappointing, that you don’t need one?”  
“No, but I’ve given up”  
“This was the last one wasn’t it?”  
“Yup” Sherlock said and they both chuckled.  
“Well then we’ll have to share.” Hyacinth took a puff and just as Sherlock extended his hand, she brought her lips to his and breathed into his mouth. Sherlock blew out the smoke.  
“May I just say, that I’m not hating this.” He said  
Silsbury smiled and rolled over to rest on her arms as she stared him happily.   
“Stay with me tonight.” Sherlock pleaded.  
“Ok” she replied.  
They heard the doorbell ring and she said “Fuck, spoke too soon.”  
“It’s a client I’ll send them away.”  
“It’s John.” She said with a sad smile and walked out to retrieve her clothes.  
“He never rings the bell.”  
“He is scared about what he might find here after you told him that you shagged Irene.” She said.  
She and John passed at the threshold and she smiled at him as John said hello.  
Halfway down the stairs she heard John ask “Client?” followed by a moment of silence. Whatever the answer was he wasn’t going to let her know and she realized that she didn’t really care, as she stepped out and got in her car.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock and Mycroft met each other outside the teashop.

"Do you really think she had a child?" Sherlock asked Mycroft  
"It doesn't really matter to me brother dear but it does to you, so..." Mycroft stepped back and gestured to himself saying here I am.

They saw their mother sitting inside sipping tea calmly,

"I see you've already formulated a story for us." Sherlock spoke.

"Sit down, William-"

"That's not my name." Sherlock angrily cut her off.

"Yes, it ruddy well is. If you behave like a child you will be treated like one. Now sit down and stop creating a scene."

Sherlock looked at his smiling brother who kissed their mother on her cheeks and said, "How have you been mummy? You know, all this is for his sake"

"Well I should have come to you for help, I thought that it'll all just go away."

"But it didn't" Sherlock said.

"No. No it didn't, did it?"

Mycroft gestured towards the cake and tea his mother was having to a waiter nearby.

"So let me start then?"

"The sooner the better." Sherlock said rigidly and Mycroft gave him a look.

"Well firstly they were not my twins."

"Do you expect us to believe that?" Sherlock asked creasing his eyebrows and leaning in towards her.

"Sherlock…" Mycroft reprimanded

"Well yes, because its true. Those girls are your father's unholy children with that woman, years ago. If you will recall, your father cheated on me. His mistress came to me when I was teaching at Harvard with her six month old twins, she told me that she had cancer and she wanted me to take them. That was not an option, they weren't my children and there was no way in hell I was raising them. I decided to keep it from your father and you. But, by the end of the day, they were still little babies, with no fault of their own and what cute little things they were. I got birth certificates with my name on them and after that bitch died I gave them up for adoption. That's all I promised her, that her children would get a good home and I would make sure of that. "  
Sherlock and Mycroft listened carefully and Mycroft whipped out his phone and Sherlock held his mothers hand

"So you're telling us that you were in a strange foreign country and gave away twins that weren't yours to some strangers that you didn't know. Really, mother? We are geniuses, you are aware of that aren't you?"

"Well… Sherlock dear, I have gone through a lot of pain because of your father and actually all the Holmes boys, I didn't want to take on two little innocent children and have them disappoint me too."

"I'm sorry mother." Sherlock said lowering his eyes.

"Oh, its not your fault honey, we raised you like this." She said

"This is lovely. As it turns out, I think I've found the motive of Silsbury's advances on you. She's looking for her sisters. Her half adopted sisters, perhaps." Mycroft said as Mrs. Holmes sat back.

"What?"

"You don't think the girls were her blood? Perhaps she's looking for them."

Sherlock looked troubled with this information and Mycroft said,  
"Don't tell me you really thought she wanted you, such people only ever use others." Mycroft said.  
"Yes." Sherlock said hollowly, got to his feet and without any salutation left.

Sherlock reached home and found her staring out his window and said,

"Do you come here for the view?"  
She turned around and looked him up and down and said smiling, "I only come here for the view."

"My brother would beg to differ." Sherlock replied tartly.

"Your brother needs that stick out of his arse and a dick instead."

Sherlock stared at her amused,

"What?" she opened her hands in question.

"Why don't we go out for dinner?" Sherlock asked,

"Ok" she replied and started unbuttoning her blouse,

"NO!" sherlock exclaimed, "real dinner."

"Oh alright." She said and strutted out the flat.

Her car was parked outside the opposite building and she led him to it. Halfway through the way, a car nearly hit them and she got in front of Sherlock and pulled him towards her and threw him behind her. She made a rude gesture towards the driver and shouted some profanity and continued to her car, where her driver was standing with the door open.

"So, you have a younger sibling?" Sherlock asked and she looked at him with a stern look, "Ma'am" sherlock added

"How can you say that?"

"You gave yourself away when you handled me on the street. People who quickly jump to help someone if they so much as stumble, either have had a traumatic road accident or are used to taking care of a younger sibling. The anger directed towards the driver wasn't for me; it was for the thought that that driver gave you. You were in that split second transported back to your youth, when the car came towards me that you felt like you were twelve again, and your younger sister or brother was crushed under the car and broke her or his leg because you associated a memory with the current action. You felt true fear when you felt like you would lose me, because you feel responsible for me? No, you remembered that time when you were out on the street and she or he got hit"."This is how you show your fear, with pure rage, which is evident since your chauffer here did not bother stopping you or restraining you."

"Your mother did not sign the papers for my sibling." Silsbury said your mother has no relation with my sister at all. Your mother has a relation to her killer. The papers your mother signed were that of an assassin. That's how I blackmail Mycroft. I could threaten to expose the truth to that person at any time he would have to double his security and you my love would have to live under a rock for the rest of your life, since you've eliminated almost all of the "web", she was a part of the Moriarty. She may have killed my half sister, but the gun from which the bullet escaped was not hers. It was of a hired man. That's the problem with people with new money; they think that we won't come after them if they don't get their hands dirty. It's true that she can delay her death, but she can't escape it."

"So what do you want of me?"

"Nothing. I don't need your help. I don't want you to sympathize or empathize with me. I simply want you. Is that such a hard concept for you to grasp?"

"Yes." He replied.

"Its so sad that a man as brilliant as you, can think so lowly of himself."

The door to the car opened and Sherlock saw before him a small Chinese restaurant. It was his favorite restaurant, because they served food with high calorie intake and that was usually enough for him for days.

"Everyone loves trashy Chinese food." Silsbury said walking in.

Sherlock noticed that she was wearing a white half sleeves blouse and lavender-purple shorts with heeled sandals, on the hot summer evening and realized that he was a bit overdressed. He strayed behind her and he grinned at the owner whom knew him. And he grinned back; Silsbury spoke in fluent Chinese to the owner. Sherlock wasn't quite sure of his mandarin, but of what he could make out, he grasped that she had had a package delivered to the owner, Mr. Hao, who had safely forwarded it to someone else.

"So you have a package that has to be delivered?"

"You ask a lot of questions and you seem to be forgetting, how to address me. You only ask these questions to startle me. Oh wipe that hurt look off your face, of course I noticed. Yes, I spent a year at a Tibetan monastery, Mr. Hao's son is going for the exchange program, so I thought I might send something to a special friend."

"What was it?"

"Oh, nothing much, just a lucky cat." She said sarcastically and they both stayed quiet for a while.

They ordered and when the food arrived they resumed their conversation, "Mary Morstan has a twin." She said suddenly and Sherlock almost choked on his food.

"What?!" he exclaimed alarmed.

"Both the sisters were assassins, there is no way of knowing which one killed mine." She stared intently at Sherlock, hoping that he would quickly join the dots.

"You. Killed. Mary?" he said through gritted teeth. "She was innocent! She had a child! She made John happy!"

"Sit down Holmes and stop creating a scene. She shot you. You almost died. You genuinely missed death by a beat. She didn't perform any surgery, she killed you. She was a psychopath. No she is. The dying woman you saw at the hospital was her sister. Imagine a woman, who killed her own sister, not killing her husband? Tell me Sherlock, what were her last words?"

Sherlock went to his mind palace at this point and had no idea where he was going, he felt the heat of the Ambassador's body next to him and it slowed him down to a comfortable pace, where he could process everything he knew. "Paramount!" Sherlock spoke in a husky voice. He noticed his surroundings and he was sitting in his chair with Silsbury behind him playing the Bach's sonata no.2. She finished and said, "Exactly! Her dying sister thought that if you keep her child alive and protect her from others, she would soften, halt and not harm John and you. Have some water; you haven't spoken in two hours. Her sister is wrong she will kill you again. She knows one thing and that is that John needs her when, you aren't around, and John knows that too now. That's why he's sulking about. Because he chose someone who was the exact opposite of you and still ended up with you."

"She kills me and then swoops in and thinks that he'll forgive her." Sherlock said.

"Smart don't you think?"

"So, your sister ma'am,"

"Yes?" she asked

"She's still alive then?"

"No, she was killed three years ago."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"I already told you Sherlock, I don't need your help. I want to help you."

"Her sister, was she your lover?"  
"No."  
"Was she your sister's-"?

"Sherlock my father isn't allowed to ask me as many questions as you have asked me in the last minute. Stop it and take off your clothes. Let's frickle frackle."

"Frickle frackle?" Sherlock asked confused.

"Yeah baby, lets get freaky."

"I don't-"

With that she cut him off and took off his jacket and her hands travelled southwards, to his crotch.

"I made a tumblr joke."

"Oh" he said and lifted her up wrapping her legs around himself and pulled off her pants and shorts, and furiously moved his hands on her.

"I wouldn't have taken you for a porn viewer."  
"I'm sorry?"

"Yes, men who watch porn have a misconception that the moment they touch a woman's clit she'll come. Hard. By the expectant look on your face, I deduce that you watch porn."

He licked her bottom lip and bit into it.  
"Mills and Boons and fan fiction."

He ripped open her top with his and pulled down his pants and bit her upper breasts,

"New experiment."

"Has it been a success?"

"What's the hypothesis?"

Before Sherlock could answer he heard footsteps, and John's voice "Hello? Sherlock? Caroline just said Sherlock."

He opened the door and froze and frostily said, "I'll come back later."

"No, Dr. Watson, Stay. Besides Caroline saying Sherlock is an amazing landmark in any child's growth, I remember when my sister said her first word, it was: Chanel." She said turning to Sherlock, "Oh that pretty little thing was as dumb as soup and all she wanted to do was decorate the world."  
"Yes, could you please put some clothes on, around my child?" John said getting angrier with each syllable.

"Children don't care for modesty, they roam naked all the time. Are you feeling exposed? Don't know where to look, John?"

John looked at her with a grimace on his face and his eyes bugged out,

"You know where to look. 'I'm not gay, but I am. Look at us both' ring a bell? You've known for quite some time where to look. You've just turned your head around time and time again and decided that you bat for the other team" Silsbury as tall as Sherlock was now hovering over John holding Caroline. She grinned a warm smile at the toddler and Caroline smiled back and gurgled happily.

"Congratulations," she said addressing Caroline now " You're growing up now and soon they'll all try to thrust responsibilities in your face. With great beauty come great expectations and with a brilliant mind come great responsibilities. You'll go in society and they'll prepare you for the necessities of life only followed by the clockwork mortals. If you are anything like your mother and father, you'll hate it, I so hope I get to meet you, you will be very useful."

"Please don't say that to my child, besides she doesn't understand you. How do you know me and my…um…eham… wife?"

Silsbury still smiling at the child didn't answer and took out a ring small enough to fit the baby. It was a tiny blue sapphire with a white gold band and she slipped it on her finger. "Your grandmother would give anything to be here." She said.

John looked at Sherlock shocked and open-mouthed, Sherlock gestured for him to stay quiet and observe.

"Your granddad however, is probably already taking a million lives to be with you sometime soon," She looked at john and said "What a beautiful child you have. Keep her away from fire and sharp objects." She moved backwards and sat in John's chair, "Be gone now, leave the child if you must."

"Are you anyone from my wife's past?"

"I am The Ambassador, please call me Ambassador, get out or your child will grow up an orphan."  
"John she's not making empty threats."

"Who is she?" John asked

Silsbury interrupted "A parenthesis, to his fantasies of you."

John looked at Sherlock, who was looking downwards to his left. "Look at him, John. He can't even deny it, he never denies it."

Sherlock tried to speak, but Silsbury looked over her shoulder and snapped, "You will talk when you're asked to" brusquely.

"Sherlock-" John said  
"Caroline is my blood John, that is the only reason why you're still standing there, alive. Don't ask questions, leave." Just as she said that, red lasers appeared on several parts of John's small form. He left angrily and Caroline looked over his shoulder and waved at Hyacinth.

"So that's your motive? Caroline? You can't take her away."

"Oh don't be absurd, if she was related to me I'd've had her with me by now."

"Then why?"

The Ambassador looked at the book on the table next to John's chair and said smiling softly, "I have a rule. Never kill a beautiful child's parent, especially a baby girl."

"That's sexist and wrong! You are taking feminism back hundreds of years!"

"Oh, Sherlock must you make everything a drama? I don't see sex, I see people, I don't think of people in differential terms, but children? Children are different; they need to be seen as male or female, they can be cruel, blunt and perceptive and often even as toddlers see themselves in gender specific roles, nobody calls them sexist or stereotypical, but if I say it... They grow up to be what they are taught. I've come to find that daddy's little girls grow up to be stronger than girls whose fathers were killed in a fight for life and death. They end up as sex workers, or assassins, exotic dancers who run drug cartels. Strong women whose fathers give them unconditional support however end up as great mathematicians, doctors or linguists and sometimes they grow up to be women who control countries. I assumed you'd rather, that the apple of you eye would fall in the latter category, although I feel that the former appeals to you, since don't think much of them and can insult them to no end."

"I'm not afraid of… Molly." Sherlock said after a beat.

"Ah! But aren't you? You are terrified of her Sherlock, she repels you because of that, you know bloody well how skilled she is and in the event that she's challenged can be quite headstrong. You long constantly for her comforting presence, she doesn't need you, she could get fired for what she does to help you. So what do you see in her?"

Sherlock looked at her confused

Hyacinth childishly rolled her eyes and began "Must I spell everything out for you? No wonder Mycroft treats you like that. She persists very hard to get what she wants; she never gives up on you. She too can see your gifts; she much like your mother encourages it. Mummy isn't around anymore to give gold stars for being social and doing brilliantly at work, but Molly fits those shoes perfectly doesn't she?"

"The linguist?" Sherlock asked trying to evade the truth

Sheer terror crossed The Ambassador's face, Sherlock saw the color leave her face and her eyes were blinking very quickly. Something she was never expecting him to ask had been asked. He should've stopped when he was asked to.

"It is no matter, Nevermind." She said in a small and strained voice

"Do you want to move to the bedroom, ma'am?"

"No, I must leave, it's late."

She hurriedly put on her clothes and escaped the house within seconds.

Sherlock stood in the middle of the room, the cool breeze from the door, reminded him of the damage control that was needed to be done for John's sake.


End file.
